


Long Day

by taylor_tut



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caring Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Chekov Needs A Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Leonard "Bones" McCoy is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22247671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: ope we watched star trek 2009 again and I couldn’t sleep until i wrote a very small drabble about chekov feeling guilty for not being able to save spock’s mom
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Long Day

Though he’d swear up and down that he hated everything about the ship, no one walked up and down its halls just for the sake of doing so more than Leonard McCoy. He liked it best after a long shift in the med bay in the middle of the night, when the third shift crew were quietly monitoring their surroundings and none of the people who tended to guide them straight into trouble were awake. He liked to see the closed doors of Spock and Scotty and even Kirk, though he knew that they probably weren’t sleeping soundly. It was nice to just to get away from the med bay sometimes, away from the beeping monitors and chaos of the sickbay. The darkness and silence could even be a little soothing, sometimes, when it wasn’t the vessel for disease and danger. 

On this particular night, as Bones felt his mind finally beginning to wind down enough that perhaps he could get some sleep himself after a long and arduous day, he heard the unmistakable, bright clank of glass against countertop. If the ship hadn’t’ been so dead quiet, he wouldn’t have heard it at all, and he might have walked by the cafeteria without so much as a second glance, but because there was no other noise, he easily identified the sound: someone was drinking alone. 

As a connoisseur of drinking alone in the middle of the night, Bones was a firm believer that no one should do it, and the rare and rarer every day call to action had him rounding the corner instead of just walking past and to his room. 

“Mister Chekov,” he called, half as a greeting and half in surprise, as this was not who he expected to find. Chekov startled and sat up straighter with a slightly panicked look in his eye as he tried to discreetly angle his body between himself and the bottle of scotch that he was most certainly not supposed to be drinking at 17 years old. Bones rolled his eyes. “Relax, kid,” he brushed him off, “I’m not gonna tell on ya.”

The anxiety didn’t fully leave his posture, but he did sit back a little. 

“Hello, Doctor,” he greeted. “I am surprised that you are not in bed yet.”

“I could say the same for you,” Bones pointed out. “Don’t you have alpha shift tomorrow morning? Do you know how late it is?”

Chekov rubbed his face tiredly, looking more exhausted than Bones was used to. It was offputting, seeing him tired. Bones would have placed money on the bet that he was so energetic that he ran in his sleep.

“I could not sleep,” Chekov admitted. 

“I’ll drink to that,” Bones smiled a little, “and yes, that is me asking you to share.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Chekov’s mouth and he slid his glass to Bones. 

“You’re done?” he asked. In lieu of a reply, Chekov put the bottle to his lips and took a swig. The liquor was smooth enough that he barely even flinched at the taste, and Bones took a seat next across from him at the table. “Alright, kid, I’ll bite. What’s eatin’ you?” 

Chekov blinked. “Eating, Doctor? I am afraid—”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Bones curtailed. “Give me a little credit. I may not have the best bedside manner in the universe, but I know a pity party when I see one. Talk to me.”

It took a moment, which Bones was more than happy to give him as it gave him an opportunity to take a long sip of the scotch. Chekov sighed. 

“It has just… been a long day.”

Bones nodded. “They’re all long, Chekov,” he countered, “and I’ve never seen you down here drinking alone before. I would know, because this is where I come to sit and drink alone. Today’s different.” Chekov looked pointedly down at his hands, away from Bones’ penetrative gaze. “Spock’s ma, right?” He nodded. “Yeah, I figured as much. You know that’s not your fault, right? You have to know that. You did your best.”

“I understand that, Doctor,” he said. “And that is the problem. I did my best and I still lost her.”

“Well, sometimes, even when you do your best, you still lose.” It was Bones’ turn to look impossibly tired. “I’ve lost enough patients to know that much.”

“How do you deal with it?” Chekov asked. “I almost wish that I had not done my best. Because now I know that my best is not good enough. When does it get easier?”

“It doesn’t,” Bones replied earnestly. “You just learn as you go, so the mistakes happen less and less. Doesn’t mean they don’t gut ya when they do happen.”

“I am not sure I can handle that, Doctor.”

“And if that’s true, that’s reasonable.” Bones tipped the last of the drink into his mouth. “But I don’t think it is.”

“Why not?”

“Because, seein’ you down here, beatin’ yourself up over something that’s not your fault just because you wanted so badly to be able to perform an even bigger miracle than the one you already performed—well, that just shows how much you care. It’d kill you to walk away more than it’s killin’ you to stay.”

Chekov was quiet for a long time and Bones went ahead and poured himself a little more scotch and threw it back while he waited. When it became clear that Chekov was going to need more than a moment or two to collect his thoughts, Bones stood, patting his shoulder bracingly as he did so. 

“Don’t lose this part of yourself, alright, Mr. Chekov? Keep that empathy strong enough that it’ll kick your ass every time. God knows we could use a little more of it around here.”

Though he never walked away from interactions feeling as though he’d helped and in fact usually knew that he’d only made things worse, Bones couldn’t help but feel a little proud when he saw Chekov screw the cap back on his bottle of scotch before he could leave. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” he called after him, and Bones pretended not to hear him. It was easier that way. 


End file.
